I met you once
at
a conference,
and
we talked
after
your presentation,
praising each other’s
contributions
to our lives;
I hugged you hard and wept,
and
you hugged me back, gently,
What I needed just then.
I wanted to write you
to
make sure you’re ok,
to
give you the hug
you
might need, just now, weeping.
(*) Naomi Shihab Nye
Like the young loon chick we
watched
testing
out his new skills,
diving
below the water,
Cam pulls himself deeper, slowly,
cautious,
his
little hands hanging onto the dock’s
edge,
unsure, bobbing there, buoyed up,
tiny
steps forward, and then retreating,
again,
knowing I won’t let him fall.
At night, lying in bed, unable to
sleep,
but remembering, I can still hear
the ocean’s
waves retreating from the shore,
brushing
back the sand into the sea, a soft
hush
kept alive by long summers living
along a rocky coast, moonlit nights
together with you amidst a backdrop
of stars and the songs they sing.
Two loons and their chick floated
past my dock
in early morning silence, the
wisdom of loon-ness
passing on to those born to replace
us, age and youth,
together, creating among us new life,
new growth,
change perhaps, creating among us
eternity.
